First Steps
by Sara Jaye
Summary: She was always happiest when she danced. Sylvia backstory.


"First Steps"  
by Sara Jaye

This fic has spoilers for Sylvia's past. I'm basically filling in some blanks here, the official story says she was cared for by a heartless man and not much else. I'm mostly theorizing here. :)

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She was barely four years old when the man found her on the side of the road. She'd been crying, he said, her parents never came home from the market and she'd gone to find them. He'd taken her home, fed her, bathed her and given her a warm bed to sleep in. She found out a year later her parents had died in a carriage accident, and he'd held her while she cried herself to sleep.

It made her sad to remember how nice he used to be, acting like a real father, sometimes even calling her his little princess. She took up the hobby of dancing around her bedroom, and he would applaud her as if she were a professional.

When she turned ten, he got a little distant, but it was nothing to worry about. He was a writer, and writers could be a little distant sometimes. It was okay, he still treated her well and when she felt a little bored or lonely, she would dance around her room. She found she was happiest when she danced and she was exceptionally good at it.

When she turned twelve, he went from distant to cold. The village ladies said he was a little antsy that she was becoming a woman and he was scared of losing his little girl. She was still dancing, and even put on little shows for the villagers. They suggested she become a professional, but her father wouldn't have it. He didn't want her turning into some flashy showgirl.

One morning, she woke up to discover her chest had grown overnight. She knew her dress had been a little tight when she put it on, but she didn't realize how tight until she came downstairs for breakfast. Her father took one look at her, made some cruel remark about the way her dress fit, and forbade her to leave the house all day.

The next day, she'd let her dress out to fit more modestly. Again, he forbade her to leave the house, and this time put her to work doing even the chores he normally did. She put up with it for a week before finally asking him why he was doing it. He slapped her face, and she ran crying to the village ladies.

It turned out the man she'd called Father for the past eight years had lost his young wife to bandits many years ago. They'd raped her, slit her throat, and left her corpse for him to find at the gate. He'd repressed the memory, but now that Sylvia was becoming a woman, it was back full force. Even worse, Sylvia's body bore a striking resemblance to his wife's.

Sylvia cried even more when she heard the tragic tale, and asked if there was some way to make it better, get him to stop thinking about his wife so he'd stop yelling at her and working her like a dog. She could try, they said, but they didn't sound very optimistic.

She tried her hardest over the next several years, but he only got worse. At one point he started slapping her when she didn't complete a chore the right way, talked back to him, wore something he didn't like. Eventually he wore down her patience and she would give as much as she took. She'd goof off and leave chores half-done, prepare a dish wrong, dress in revealing clothes, mouth off for no reason. Sometimes she'd even hit him back. The only thing that made her happy anymore was dancing.

One night during a particularly bad argument, he shoved her against the wall and wrapped his hand around her neck. When she screamed, he clapped a hand over her mouth as if trying to suffocate her. Terrified, Sylvia bit down on the fleshy heel of his hand and slammed her knee into his groin. She ran out of the house, and into the arms of the village ladies, who were keeping an eye on the two of them from the first time he hit her.

The next day, she came home and he acted as though nothing had happened. No apology, no explanation, no "you deserved it".

That was the day she decided to leave him. She packed her things, bundled some bread, fruit and cheese into a satchel, and waited for nightfall. As soon as he fell asleep at his writing desk, she snuck out the window.

At first, she just did a bunch of odd jobs around the villages, but all that boring work only brought in a few coins a day. The food supply began to run low, and she knew she had to find something that paid more lest she starve.

She remembered the man who suggested she take her dancing professional and how the mean old man she once called Father objected. Well, he wasn't here now, dancing was the thing that made her the happiest, and she was better at it than lifting sacks of wheat and painting fences.

She never thought of that mean old man again. He'd changed too much to go back to the loving father she'd known and remembering that loving father would only make her sad, even sorry she'd left. Her future was the only thing that mattered.

The first day she danced for a paying audience, she was so nervous she thought she'd faint. All those eyes watching her, knowing she _had_ to be amazing or she wouldn't earn anything and she'd starve to death on the streets.

But with that first step and twirl, her fears melted away and she embraced the rhythm like an old friend. When she finished, the audience's applause was so great she couldn't stop the proud tears from streaming down her cheeks.

_This is my life. This is what I was meant to do._


End file.
